


i'm a virgin, but

by harperuth



Series: i keep shit safe so i'm never sorry [5]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Makeup, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Priest Kink, Roleplay, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:27:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28600677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harperuth/pseuds/harperuth
Summary: “...it was custom that a devout Consors Primus, one who, according to writings, ‘had given themselves over completely to service to Primus,’ would be sent to the newly minted Primes in order to prepare their altered frames for their service to both Primus and their following.” Hot Rod raised an optical ridge. “Are you reading...Primal history?”- - -Or, Hot Rod and Deadlock find Primus. Sort of.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Hot Rod
Series: i keep shit safe so i'm never sorry [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626400
Comments: 10
Kudos: 77





	i'm a virgin, but

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Do The Dirty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204590) by [fuzipenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin). 



> SO a bit ago fuzipenguin wrote the most INCREDIBLE jazzop priest kink and in a haze the next day i wrote the first half of this. finally came back and finished it. god bless us all.
> 
> the priest title i made up is a riff off "consors imperii" which according to the wiki article i found was a title for emporers that shared imperial authority. also for hot rod's temp paint i was picturing it like the glowing lines in the isu from assassin's creed bc i have!! brainworms!!!
> 
> i'm sure you're aware by now but, title from 'stay safe' by tiny meat gang

What was really tragic, Hot Rod decided later, was that he never would’ve even _known_ if he hadn’t strong armed Deadlock into letting him lay on top of him like that. 

(He knew Deadlock liked it. That was beside his current point though.)

Deadlock had been reclined up against the wall at the head of their berth reading a datapad when Hot Rod had gotten off shift. He was still there when Hot Rod got out of the washrack and considering his options, he settled on the obviously best one.

“Fuck, Roddy, are you serious?” Deadlock kicked at him lightly, but didn’t roll him out of the berth. Hot Rod sighed happily and wrapped his arms around Deadlock’s middle, settling heavier onto the berth and Deadlock. He turned his helm to the tiny viewscreen and turned it on, volume low. Deadlock grumbled for another minute but eventually quieted, letting the datapad drop to rest on Hot Rod’s helm.

It was _nice_ , everything quiet like this. Everyone poked fun at Hot Rod for being loud and excited all the time, but there was a lot to be excited about! This though...maybe it was something just for Deadlock, he didn’t know. He just knew he liked it.

Hot Rod was pretty dialled into the program— Snarl had gotten him hooked on these re-runs of X Games —which is why it took him a minute to register the warmth of Deadlock’s panel against his abdomen. 

Hot Rod snorted. “What’re you reading up there? More housemech smut?”

Deadlock froze before snarling and kicking Hot Rod. “No. Shut up. It’s nothing.”

“Well now I _have_ to know.” Hot Rod pushed up and raised an optical ridge. “Is it the barbarian stuff? ... _human_ stuff?”

“I’m not reading erotica.” Deadlock’s plating was flaring at random intervals though, and he wouldn’t meet Hot Rod’s optics. “Drop it.”

Hot Rod narrowed his optics. He tensed his cables and executed a move that let him grab the datapad and roll off the berth at the same time. He didn’t really expect it to _work_ , so when he ended up with the datapad across the room alone, he just darted his gaze back and forth between the pad and Deadlock. 

Deadlock looked just as shocked. Energon flooded his face plates and he sat up fully. “Roddy, seriously. It’s...it’s nothing.”

Hot Rod flicked the datapad back on and finally read it. 

It was….absolutely not what he was expecting.

“...it was custom that a devout Consors Primus, one who, according to writings, ‘had given themselves over completely to service to Primus,’ would be sent to the newly minted Primes in order to prepare their altered frames for their service to both Primus and their following.” Hot Rod raised an optical ridge. “Are you reading...Primal history?”

“Yes.” Deadlock crossed his arms over his chest and looked to the side. “Ratchet loaned it to me. I don’t...have a lot of information about what the planet was like before the War.”

“Sure.” Hot Rod only did because Ultra Magnus was pretty insistent about that kinda thing. “What about this is revving your engine, though?”

“Roddy.” Deadlock hissed but the energon in his face only darkened. Hot Rod raised an optical ridge and went back to reading, both ridges rising together.

“Oh, _prepared_ their frames.” Hot Rod looked back at Deadlock, still squirming on the berth. His fans clicked on when Hot Rod grinned. “That’s pretty risque for a bunch of priests.”

“ _Roddy_.” Deadlock groaned, and his panel transformed away. 

“Fuck, really?” Hot Rod dropped the datapad and went back to the berth, dropping to his knees and shouldering his way between Deadlock’s. “This is like, really doing something for you?”

“Shut _up_.” Deadlock hissed, and Hot Rod decided to take the high road and do so, but only because his mouth was otherwise occupied.

\- - - 

“So, like...what exactly is it that’s revving you up?” Hot Rod wasn’t going to be deterred with several rounds of really good interface. Deadlock groaned underneath him, but he clearly hadn’t considered the fact that distracting Hot Rod with interface only meant that he was more worn out than Hot Rod and thus couldn’t escape his questioning.

Thus. Hot Rod was really trying to work on his vocabulary; he’d have to tell Sludge about that.

Anyway. “Is it the Prime thing? Because, I mean, everyone’s had a thing for Optimus at one point or another. Look _at_ him.”

“I don’t want to fuck Optimus.” Deadlock said. Hot Rod propped himself up on an elbow and gave him a long look. Deadlock sighed. “Okay, I wouldn’t say _no_ , but I’m not actively trying to fuck Optimus.”

“Better.” Hot Rod patted his chest. Deadlock rolled his optics. “Okay, I’m gonna walk through it then and you can tell me what I’m missing.”

Deadlock sighed again, his frame sinking into the berth. “I hate this. I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Hot Rod threw a leg over Deadlock’s hips, pressing his bared valve against his thigh. He was possibly, maybe, still a little revved up.

“Primus, do you ever _stop_.” Deadlock grabbed his knee though, and pulled him in tighter.

“Probably.” Hot Rod rolled his hips lazily. “Don’t distract me. I’m thinking.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Deadlock muttered. Hot Rod ignored him.

“So, some priest.” Hot Rod kept moving against Deadlock, warming himself to the idea of whatever this was. “Not just any priest, a priest that’s like. So good at priesting he’s the priest to end all priests. The priest to end the _Prime_.”

“He’s not _killing him_ , Roddy, what the fuck?” The servo that wasn’t holding Hot Rod’s knee dropped down to brush against the top of his aft.

“So, Super Priest here is...is _gifted_ to the Prime. To fuck him.” Hot Rod paused in his movements and looked up at Deadlock. “That’s kind of messed up dude. Isn’t that like. Totally anathema to the Decepticon Cause?”

“Anathema.” Deadlock didn’t inflect it as a question. 

“Anathema.” Hot Rod nodded. “I used it right, shut up.”

“Ugh.” Deadlock squeezed his optics shut and muttered quickly. “It’s not anathema at all because...because...because he _wants_ it. Wants to serve Primus this way.”

“Okaaay.” Hot Rod said slowly, drawing the word out. He rolled his hips again. “So, the Prime of it all.”

“I don’t want to fuck Optimus!” Deadlock’s claws dug into his aft, just a little.

“I know!” Hot Rod jerked forward, node sliding against the wet patch he’d created on Deadlock’s thigh. “Fuck. I mean, I don’t get the whole ‘preparing their frames for service’ thing. What service? What does getting fucked prepare it for?”

“Primus.” Deadlock hissed. Hot Rod waited. “It’s...Prime’s are remade when they receive the matrix, right?”

“Uh-huh.” Hot Rod hitched his hips in little jerks, node caught on a really well placed seam.

“They get reformatted.” Deadlock’s fans had clicked back on to a lazy spin. Hot Rod grinned. “It’s...it’s a new frame. In the optics of Primus, and like. Actually.”

Hot Rod’s processor spun that around for a minute until something clicked. He pushed himself up, straddling Deadlock’s thigh and hovering over him. “It’s a _virgin_ thing?”

“No.” Deadlock’s face plates were hot with rushing energon again. “Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Hm.” Hot Rod gave another lazy roll of his hips. “Can I have a servo here?”

Hot Rod ignored Deadlock’s muttered, “Oh thank Primus,” in favor of chasing his overload. He turned the scenario over and over in his processor even while Deadlock swiped angrily at his node. He _wasn’t_ going to be deterred.

\- - -

Hot Rod slumped down against Deadlock, not really caring if he wasn’t caught and fell off the couch. “Fuck, that’s so good. Why don’t we do that more often.”

“We’d probably die.” Deadlock’s frame was still warm and Hot Rod could feel his spark humming against his cheek, even through his chest plates.

“Yeah, probably.” Hot Rod considered this. “Might be worth it though.”

“I don’t think we need to give anyone more reasons to mock us after death.” Deadlock hummed, but he sounded pretty content.

“You’re the only person I’ve shown my spark to.” Hot Rod couldn’t even try to sit himself up enough to see Deadlock’s face. 

Deadlock didn’t falter where his servo was petting his spoiler. “Yeah? Me too, you know.”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod sighed. It was nice and quiet again. The priest thing processing tree pushed to the front of his processor and he hummed. “What was your first ‘face like?”

“What?” Deadlock’s digits stuttered. “Why?”

“Dunno, just curious.” Hot Rod shrugged.

“What was yours like?” Deadlock sounded defensive, but the bond, so fresh off a renewal as it was, pulsed with a swirling mix of interest and apprehension and a little bit of charge.

Also, like Hot Rod _wasn’t_ gonna answer that. He nuzzled at Deadlock’s chest. “Well, it was with Blaster.”

“ _Blaster_?” Deadlock squeezed his spoiler. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod hummed, recalling the memory files. “He was kind of like. A go-to for newforges. Gentle, but also fun, y’know?”

“Not...really.” Deadlock was quiet for a long few kliks. Hot Rod didn’t rush him. Fuck what everyone else said, he could be patient. When it was important. Deadlock sighed. “Skywarp.”

“Ooh, seekers, huh?” Hot Rod wriggled a little, not actually trying anything. Deadlock huffed a soft laugh.

“Skywarp likes being spiked. It was a pretty badly kept secret that he’d yield without too much fight.”

Hot Rod did his best not to react. “Fight?”

Deadlock stayed loose and laughed again. “Yeah, yeah. What Ratchet would call dumb ‘Con shit. Fight to spike.”

“Huh.” Hot Rod pressed a kiss to his chest. “You just spiked right off the bat?”

“You didn’t?” Deadlock’s servo picked back up in its petting.

“Just touching and stuff.” Hot Rod shook his helm, stretching up to kiss Deadlock’s chin. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Weirdo.” Deadlock hauled him all the way up to kiss him properly. Hot Rod hummed against his mouth and fell into the love pulsing down the bond.

\- - -

“I think we should try it.” Hot Rod said, apropos of nothing. Deadlock was reading another datapad, but he paused to look up at Hot Rod carefully.

“Try what?” Deadlock sighed and put the datapad to the side. Hot Rod wondered what he saw that let him know this was going to be a Conversation. Hot Rod dropped onto the berth across from him.

“The priest thing.”

Deadlock jerked upright. “Roddy—”

“No, no, listen.” Hot Rod vented carefully. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

Deadlock’s optics brightened and darted back to his face. “You have?”

“Yeah.” Hot Rod grinned. “I don’t think I fully get it still, but I’m into it. I mean, I’m into anything you’re into, but also this is kind of appealing on its own.”

“Do you…” Deadlock cycled his intake. Hot Rod watched with interest. “How did you, uh, wanna—?”

“Whatever you wanna do.” Hot Rod shrugged. “I can get into it either way.”

“Okay.” Deadlock’s optics were still bright, and his smile was wide.

“Fuck.” Hot Rod crawled forward to meet him. “We can talk about the particulars later.”

\- - -

Hot Rod studied his face in the washrack mirror once more. Deadlock had somehow gotten his servos on _gold_ temp paint, everything done up in delicate little lines around Hot Rod’s optics and mouth. Sunstreaker hadn’t looked like he was pulling a prank while it went on, but now Hot Rod wasn’t so sure. 

“If you laugh at me, I’m leaving!” Hot Rod called through the closed door. 

“I’m not gonna laugh!” Deadlock called back. Hot Rod could hear his plating clattering even through the door, the muffled sound of fans reaching him as well. Primus. 

Hot Rod gave himself another long look. The temp paint continued down his frame, thick lines shining in the washrack lights, highlighting the angles of his frame. It kind of made him look taller, which was cool. Hot Rod let his plating ruffle carefully, the light catching the lines anew, almost making them glow. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

The washrack door slid open, only sticking a little bit where they’d dented it one day and hadn’t quite been able to pull the metal back straight. Hot Rod’s vents caught. Their hab lights were low, but everything had a soft glow from dozens of lamps and crystals strewn about the place. The hazy quality made Deadlock’s own white temp paint positively _radiant_. “Oh.”

“Prime.” Deadlock’s helm was lowered. Hot Rod stared dumbly. “I have been deemed worthy in the optics of Primus for the honor of serving you.”

Hot Rod gaped. “Did you...what happened to your vocalizer?”

Deadlock flicked his gaze up briefly, a small frown marring his features. His voice sounded like it always had when he said, “Roddy, c’mon.”

“Sorry.” Hot Rod’s plating ruffled again and Deadlock’s optics followed the new lines on them. Just a temporary patch or something then. Hot Rod closed his optics and cycled his intake. “Please, I’m the one who must learn to serve, Consor.”

Deadlock shuddered at the title. Hot Rod felt his own spark cycle a little harder, array coming online. He let himself sink back a little into the shyness of being a newforge, not quite knowing what to do with his frame. “Would you show me, Consor? Would you teach me how to serve?”

Deadlock’s plating flared and he rose, face still turned down. Hot Rod didn’t move at all as Deadlock shuffled forward into his space, still not looking at him. His fans blew warm air over Hot Rod’s frame, making him shiver. “As I said, Prime, it is my honor.”

Hot Rod swayed forward, expecting a kiss, but Deadlock only backed off again, taking Hot Rod’s servos in his own and pulling him further into their hab. Hot Rod followed easily, unable to tear his gaze away from Deadlock, who glanced up at him and smiled sweetly, not a hint of fang showing. His panel pinged him a request to open. He denied it. 

“There are different ways of serving His light, Prime.” Deadlock’s voice was hushed and smooth, none of his harshness there. It was...supplicating. Hot Rod bit his lip. “We shall have to work our way through all of them if you’re to truly be ready.”

“I—” Hot Rod cycled his intake. Deadlock had sat on the berth and finally looked up at him, fully keeping optic contact for the first time since they’d started. The burning red felt like it was seeing past Hot Rod, into something...holy. “I am at your bidding, Consor.”

Deadlock smiled again, just as sweet, fangs carefully hidden. “Then first you must learn to serve unselfishly; for the benefit of your following and not yourself.”

Hot Rod followed Deadlock’s careful urging and folded to his knees in front of him. Deadlock leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehelm. When he drew back Hot Rod found himself completely mesmerized by the gold lines that had come away on his lips. “Don’t worry about wrong or right, just do what feels natural. Primus will guide you.”

Deadlock leaned back on his elbows and retracted his array cover. Hot Rod’s optics widened at just how _wet_ Deadlock was, valve mesh swollen with energon like he was on the edge of overload already. Hot Rod flicked his optics up to his face, gold stained lip caught in his denta. Hot Rod licked his own lips and leaned forward. “Thank you, Consor.”

Deadlock whined and his hips jumped up at the words. Hot Rod waited for him to settle again before licking hesitantly across his mesh, avoiding his node. Deadlock gasped when Hot Rod looked up at him, as if seeking approval.

Hot Rod set about on a careful exploration of Deadlock’s valve, as if he was touching it for the first time. He kept his servos in his lap, running his glossa lightly over his mesh, dipping shallowly into his valve rim and making a startled noise at the lubricant there. Deadlock’s vents grew faster and heavier, but he didn’t offer any direction. Hot Rod pulled back once he knew his face was good and wet with Deadlock’s lubricant to blink up at him. “How do I make you overload, Consor? Please, I want to serve you best.”

Deadlock’s hips jumped and he cried out a muffled noise, lip back between his denta. He vented carefully for several nanokliks before releasing it. “The-The node there. At the top.”

Hot Rod lifted a servo and brushed a digit too lightly across his node. “This one?”

Deadlock’s frame shook. “Yes. That— You may also use your digits.”

“Thank you, Consor.” Hot Rod ducked forward again. He slid two digits into Deadlock’s valve and pressed the flat of his glossa to his anterior node. Deadlock shouted, overload locking his frame immediately. Hot Rod denied his panel once more while he watched. 

Deadlock finally lifted his helm from where it had fallen back. “Primus has chosen well, sir.”

Hot Rod couldn’t help his own full frame jolt at that, charge rushing through his lines. He ducked his helm. “I...I can only hope, Consor.”

Deadlock’s digits caught under his chin and tipped his helm back up. A soft kiss was pressed to his forehelm again. “Shall we keep going?”

“If you wish.” Hot Rod felt caught in Deadlock’s gentle gaze. His plating was flaring, trying to release heat he hadn’t realized was building in his frame. He wanted to hide away, but also never leave those optics. “I only want to serve. What must I learn next?”

“Next…” Deadlock trailed off, optics searching Hot Rod’s face. There was a soft questioning pulse through the bond. Hot Rod sent his own reassurance back. Deadlock nodded. “Next, you must learn to take your following into your frame, just as you have taken Primus into you with the Matrix.”

Deadlock stood, drawing Hot Rod up with him in order to turn them and lay him back on the berth. Hot Rod couldn’t help staring up at Deadlock with something like awe. The lamps lighting the hab softened all his sharp lines, something ethereal in the glow of his plating. “I, um, how do I do that?”

Deadlock climbed back onto the berth, nudging Hot Rod’s knees apart. “Open your panel, Prime.”

Hot Rod let his panel open, _finally_. He was still caught up in watching Deadlock and saw the moment he looked down and froze. His vocalizer strangled, somewhere between the patch he was using and his normal tone. “Is that—?”

“Oh.” Hot Rod had forgotten. Deadlock had talked to Sunstreaker about the paint and stuff, but Hot Rod had talked to Swindle. “Primus remade me, renewed me.”

Deadlock, seemingly in a trance, reached out and ran a single digit down the seal just visible in Hot Rod’s valve mesh. Charge _slammed_ down the bond, drowning out anything else that may have been there. Hot Rod shivered and held back from pushing into Deadlock’s touch.

Deadlock pushed, just enough to stretch the seal without breaking it. It wasn’t quite wired into his sensornet the way a proper seal was, but Hot Rod could still feel the pressure. It also wasn’t permeable the way a proper seal was, so the movement of it jostled the lubricant that had built up behind it. He gasped, hips jumping up. Deadlock visibly cycled his intake. “May...may I remove your seal, Prime?”

“Please.” Hot Rod couldn’t help but whine. Now that he was aware of the lubricant pooling in his valve all he wanted was something solid to cycle against. 

Deadlock pulled his digit away and Hot Rod whined again. He leaned up to hover over Hot Rod, awe across his features. It stilled Hot Rod, where he had been tempted to reach down and breach his own damn seal. Deadlock dropped a kiss on his forehelm, then moved slowly down, following the lines of temp paint. Another kiss to his nasal ridge, his chin, over his spark. One to his abdomen, each side of his pelvic plating. 

Gold paint smudged under each point of contact, the lines blurring. Deadlock’s lips were painted gold when he finally reached Hot Rod’s array, pressing forward to run his glossa along the seal. Hot Rod threw his helm back, unable to watch anymore. “Ah!”

Deadlock’s glossa pressed at the seal insistently, applying more pressure with each pass. The lubricant jostled against his nodes, driving Hot Rod out of his processor. His frame couldn’t decide what it wanted, twitching away and into Deadlock in equal measure. Finally, Deadlock pinned his hips and turned his mouth just enough to catch at the seal with one of his fangs. 

It ripped.

“Oh Primus.” Hot Rod tried to buck against Deadlock’s grip, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t stop the torrent of held back lubricant from spilling onto Deadlock’s face, into his mouth. “C-Consor, I—” 

His vocalizer fizzled out when Deadlock pulled back and mouthed at his node. It was too much and not enough and Hot Rod wasn’t sure which way was up anymore. “ _Please_.”

“Shh.” Deadlock followed his path of kisses back up, spreading Hot Rod’s lubricant all over his frame. “I’ll take care of you, Prime. Don’t fret. Just accept me into your frame.”

“Please.” Hot Rod’s processor finally seemed to regain control of his frame, and he lifted his servos to pull at Deadlock’s shoulders. “Please, let me take you, let me serve. I want—”

“Shh,” Deadlock said again, pressing their forehelms together. “I’ll take care of it. Just feel.”

Hot Rod didn’t know when Deadlock’s spike had pressurized, but when it bumped against his valve mesh he nearly sobbed. Hot Rod spread his thighs wider, rolling his hips up into the feeling. Deadlock brought a servo down to still him. “Relax. Relax Prime.”

“Plea— Ah!”

Deadlock’s spike pushed through each ring of calipers slowly, but without hesitation. Hot Rod pulled at his shoulders until he lowered enough that he could hide his face in his neck cables. It had been a long time and a lot of spikings since Hot Rod’s first time, but he felt like a newbuild again somehow. His calipers cycled wildly, clutching at Deadlock’s spike, nodes firing back against answering charge. 

His frame had taken up a permanent tremble. He didn’t realize just how close he was until Deadlock pulled his spike back. “Wait!”

A nanoklik too late. Deadlock rolled back forward smoothly, spike filling his valve once more. Hot Rod bit down on one of the cables in front of his mouth, moaning around it as his overload ran through him. It was a small one, but it left Hot Rod feeling entirely drained. He blinked rapidly, cleanser gathering in his optics, frame still shaking.

“Roddy?” Deadlock tried to pull back, but Hot Rod clutched at his shoulders and didn’t let him.

“Gimme— fuck.” Hot Rod gasped, holding Deadlock close. “Gimme a klik.”

“Yeah, Roddy, course.” Deadlock settled back down, letting Hot Rod hold him. His spike was still pressurized, dripping with charge in Hot Rod’s valve. Hot Rod waited until the shaking had died down to cycle his calipers experimentally. Deadlock’s hips twitched.

He exvented. “I don’t think— I think I’m done. Will you— Can we just frag? As us?”

He let Deadlock pull back this time, both of them searching the optics of the other. Hot Rod let his gaze stray, taking in the way the white paint on Deadlock’s frame had smudged, how his mouth was still covered in gold. Deadlock smiled, and it was his normal one: too many denta, fangs flashing. His vocalizer patch was gone when he said, “Yeah. Yeah Roddy, just us.”

\- - -

“All in all, I think that was a resounding success.”

“Resounding.” Deadlock groaned, scrubbing at a bit of stubborn gold paint on Hot Rod’s shoulder. “You _cried_ , Roddy.”

“Take the compliment.” Hot Rod shrugged, dropping to his knees to get at the white paint that was now patchwork on Deadlock’s thighs. “You fragged me that good.”

“Ugh.” Deadlock redirected his attention to his face while Hot Rod scrubbed at his thighs. 

“Hey.” Hot Rod tapped his panel. “Open up.”

Deadlock’s panel slid away, revealing an array that was...tinged gold. Hot Rod cycled his optics and stared. It was...sort of pretty. Deadlock huffed a careful exvent under the cleanser spray. “You get lost down there?”

“Nah.” Hot Rod dropped the rag he’d been using. “Just changed my mind on something.”

“Roddy.” Deadlock warned. Hot Rod wondered what expression was on his face exactly. Deadlock backed up until he hit the wall. “No. Nuh-uh. Do not. We’re trying to clean up and rech— Ah!”

What was really tragic, Hot Rod decided later, while Ratchet was yelling at them, was that they both _sucked_ at washrack sex.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me about robots on twitter [@floralpunkcfb](https://twitter.com/floralpunkcfb)


End file.
